


Sim Sala Bim

by BunnyMoss



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fleet Foxes, Friends to Lovers, Language Barrier, Lighthouse Keeper Pagan, Lighthouses, Pining, Siren Vanya, Sirens, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-09-28 08:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyMoss/pseuds/BunnyMoss
Summary: Are you off somewhere reciting incantations?Sim sala bim on your tongueCarving off the hair of someone's youngRemember when you had me cut your hair?Call me Delilah, then I wouldn't careTogether they sit on the shore and share a thermos of hot tea. Her rendition of Camptown Races sounds much, much better than what he whistles on his walks up and down the rocky hillside. If this is his foreseeable future, so be it.Multi-chapter songfic inspired by the Fleet Foxes song.





	1. Chapter 1

The ocean is a steady ebb and flow of tide after tide. His lighthouse is a steady beacon of hope to seafarers skirting the shore. They work hand in hand to respect the natural flow of things, his bright blinding lights and the saltwater waves. But he's bound here. Alone. Tied to bad memories and a bed half-empty, and his obligations to guide sailors he’s never met and never will. Strangers at sea coast by, in and out of his life. He works a thankless job.

Little Gary barks beneath the tiny kitchen table, his tail a'wagging gleefully. His ears are soft beneath his palm as he reaches down to pet him blindly. He earns a soft lick to his wrist.

Something out there has been calling for him since the early evening.

Something out there has been singing for him since last night, and he can't tune it out any longer.

_Delirium, exhaustion, dizziness._

He's almost thought to pack his bags and up and leave the lighthouse for a night. If it'd get him away from that haunting melody out on the waves, swelling like sea foam and warbling like bubbles on the current, he thought he'd go. But the suitcase beside his rickety old chair has sat untouched since he shoved an outfit and his toiletries in and closed the latches. The candle on the table is dying. The lilting song on the waves is not.

Gary turns a circle and then leans back on his legs, causing the chair to creak in stubborn resistance. He'd think a collie dog would hear more keenly than his human ears do. But the pup doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest.

The surging swell of some beautiful, low note strokes some deep-seated, uncomfortable longing in the pit of his stomach. He can’t bring himself to put distance between the shore, and that ethereal song.

He’s up on his feet swiftly, fumbling to pluck up the single unstruck match lying near the waxy nub of the candle he's been nursing. With a deft swipe against the rough, rusting latch of his suitcase, and a touch to the wick of the lantern on the table beside the door, the room takes on a hearty glow. He'll need the guiding light to make it down the steep, rocky hill to the shore. He has to know who or what is out there singing.

The moment he presses the kitchen door open, the song takes on a new fervor. The air is alive with what he now recognizes as a woman's voice. The crash of the waves against the cliffside far below punctuate those lilting notes with determined fervency.

The resounding tones that vibrate through his body call him forward in a trance and he finds himself sprinting up the hillside instead of down. Off he goes towards the great, gnarled dead tree standing on the bluff. Solitary as he is, watching the ocean in an undying vigil, just as he does. He and she carved their names into this tree so many years ago, when they first settled down. They've grown so high up since then. He won’t be able to see them tonight even with the help of the lantern light.

Down in the water far below, he hears the woman urge him forward with those wordless warbles. It is as though she understands his pain, this mysterious witch of a woman off in the shadows of the night, floating on the current somewhere.

_God, he misses her. Beautiful wife, untouchable, resting somewhere on the sea floor far away from here._

From his pocket he fishes his little knife. Perfect for whittling. His favorite tool. He doesn’t know why he's acting on impulse. The song is growing louder and louder, impatient and deafening.

Two letters in the tree bark make his last mark on this world.

_P. M._

And he sets the knife down against the roots. And he lifts up the lantern to illuminate the last grassy crest. The water far below is invisible in the pitch black of the new moon.

That melody pulls him like a dog on a leash, a puppet on a string.

He leaps.

And as he and his lantern hit the water, he sinks without struggling. No clawing at the frigid water or the heavy rock of the waves threatening to dash him against the rocky shore. No gasps for breath, no pleas for air. The only resounding thought in his mind as the shock takes over is of that dear wife's name.

He sinks.

Straight into two chilly arms, clutching him up like he matters. And all he can do with his last dying heartbeat as he tries to hold onto that last lungful of air is to close his eyes. To submit. To wrap his arms right back around the cold, slippery body and let it drag him under, down to the ocean floor. Down to join her in the water deep.

……

…

_Air._

Sunlight.

Solid ground.

Sky?

He’s alive.

_He's… alive?_

He coughs and sputters the moment he draws breath, spitting out lungfuls of bitter salt water.

There's a little warm tongue lapping at his cold cheek. The shoreline reeks of seaweed and fish. Gary keens in his ear, his little tail thumping happily in the wet sand. Against his chest he feels a hand, fisted in his shirt and trembling oh so slightly. His eyes burn even as they're shut, stung by the briny sea and the blinding sun warming his shivering body.

Something else whimpers. _Someone_ else whimpers. In his other ear. A high, inhuman whimper, little coos of pining sorrow. _What-…_

He opens his eyes and traces the circling buzzards high in the sky. His whole body aches, and he has no idea where he is or where he's been, or for that matter, how he came to be here. That is, until he hears that sorrowful whimper again, and that hand on his chest presses into him with concern, giving him a little shake.

A pale, pale face dips into view, eyes black as night, hair just as dark, peering over him curiously with her thick brows furrowed fearfully. With a yelp of surprise loud enough to send Gary skittering back with a yip of his own, he throws his hands up to shield his face. His guardian yelps herself, and the sound of her voice is like pure, bubbling eddies on the air. Peeking between his fingers, he sees she's still hovering over him, whining more insistently now. And with the melodic warble of her voice, the realization hits him hard, slamming through him with the jump in his pulse.

“You-…” he croaks out, _“siren?!”_

Something slaps the water in response, and the spray rains down on him in cold, glittering drops.

And there she is as he sits himself up warily and gawks at her. Laid out on her belly beside him, sunning her sleek and frilly tail. Scales of pale lavender and vibrant violet shimmer in the sun, iridescent rainbows dancing on the smooth surface of them. Fear cuts through him sharp as a knife as he registers the danger associated with her presence here.

But she's not hostile. Those wide black doe-eyes track his every move like she's worried about him. Her freckle dappled nose crinkles up as she grimaces, trying to reach out with a webbed hand to paw at his chest again.

“N-no?” he manages hoarsely, “please no?”

_No what?_

She's not trying to hurt him. But had she not dragged him down into the drink last night? Was he dreaming? But then why would this creature be here now?

_“Nooo?”_

He jumps a little, surprised to hear the vague recreation of his own syllables falling from her pale lips. She tilts her head just so, smiling innocently, and he watches the gills on the side of her strong neck flex.

Gary is wandering off along the shore, his nose to the rocky sand as he traces some elusive trail.

“C-can you understand me?” he asks as she paws at his chest again, this time finding purchase in his shirt and gripping it again.

She doesn’t pull. She just hangs on.

_“Nooooo?”_ she tries again, and follows through with a series of burbles and sighs that he takes to be her attempt at addressing him.

Good gods in heaven what is he _doing?!_ Conversing with his assailant?

“Do you speak English?” he finds himself saying, and then, “I'm… I'm Pagan.”

Not _did you try to kill me last night? _ Or _did you bring me to shore?_ Or _why are you still here, what's going on?_ The siren stares him down, her mouth opening and closing like she's trying to figure out a response. And damned if he doesn’t wait with bated breath for her to speak, half expecting her to come right out with perfect English like any human-appearing creature should in his mind.

_“…nooo?”_

_Mimic_. She's mimicking him.

_“_Pagan,” he asserts, gesturing grandly to himself despite how foolish he feels, _“Paaaaagan.”_

Her eyes follow his hands rather than his lips, and she releases his shirt to gesture like he does. Her fingers are so delicate looking, and webbed below the first knuckle. But her nails… long, pointy claws. Could tear through his flesh with a swipe of her hand. When she sees him staring, she retracts them hastily, and he swears he sees a little flustered flush to her cheeks.

“I'm Pagan,” he tries again insistently, holding her eye this time and leaving his hands in his lap.

“Paaagann,” she struggles, and it doesn’t sound quite right but he understands her all the same.

“Very good!” Pagan laughs away some of his worry, cheered by the giddy little wriggle she does when she gets his name right, “but… who are you?”

Her tail curls up into the air, and she stretches the wide, rippling fin as it casts a bit of shade on them both. With an enthusiastic flick she splashes in the water lapping at them, and she goes right back for his shirt again.

“Paaagan!! Pagan!!” she chitters, flashing her sharp pearly whites in a wide, cheery grin.

“Yes dear, lovely job…” he sighs, “Pagan. Good. Ah… thank you… for saving me. Please don’t, uh… don't _eat me_ alright?”

The siren tilts her head back and laughs a hearty laugh, squeaking like a porpoise as her shoulders heave. Never in his life has he heard a more perfect sound. And when she meets his eye again, she nods once. One single time. As though, he thinks, she understands. Or perhaps he's putting too much stock in her. But whatever the case, he's alive. Evidently, because of her. His scaly-tailed befreckled savior, cackling with joy at the sound of his voice.

With a hesitant touch, Pagan reaches up to cover her clutching grasp with his own hand against his chest. Her skin is smooth, and bitterly cold, but it feels nice under his palm. He wants to touch her hair, her face her_ tail_, but he's afraid to push his luck.

She must read his mind, for with a surge of her tail and a graceful little wriggle, she shifts herself practically into his lap in the water. He struggles to accommodate her, expecting her to crush him under his weight, but she's surprisingly light laid out against him. For a moment, he thinks to himself that maybe this is how she gets him after all, just playing with her food. But she doesn’t claw, doesn’t bite. Instead she nestles her head against his chest beneath his chin, smelling of seaweed and salt, and the baking sun.

“Do you have a name?” he asks again insistently as he lays his hands at his sides, afraid to do anything to startle her.

Her gills open and close again, likely on reflex before she inhales a lungful of air. _She must have both, then?_

Whatever noise she makes in response sounds like nothing he’s ever heard before. It’s nothing he can put a _name_ to. And when he doesn’t respond, the repeats the process of inhaling and ekeing out some melodic little sound. On the third attempt, Pagan finally lifts his hands and settles them on her back, running his fingers over the ridged frills that arch down her spine to her tail. The siren shivers with delight and makes some noise akin to a purr before she again says what he gathers to be her name.

_Well, he may as well put a name to that sound_. If he’s to be conversing with this impossibly possible woman, she may as well at least have a title, shouldn’t she? Overhead a gaggle of seagulls squawk on the wind as if to affirm his inner question.

“One more time for me dear?” he asks quietly, shivering hard from the chill in the water, and from her equally frigid body pressing his into the shore.

This time she lifts her head from his chest and squints at him expectantly until he gets the hint and resumes stroking those dorsal ridges on her back. Her tail sways happily, and she answers his request – a clear sign that she does indeed understand him, to some extent.

“Fff-… no, Von...yuh?” Pagan tries, sounding out the syllable-like noises he can pick out, “Vanya?”

Her shoulders stiffen and she lifts herself up on her elbows against his chest, grinning that nose-crinkling grin again. She repeats her name once more, and, sure, that fits well enough he thinks. Really, she’d be absolutely precious if he wasn’t sure she could murder him in all of a snap of her teeth or a swipe of her claws.

“I’ll call you Vanya, then,” he smiles despite himself, giving her a gentle little pat on the back, “what a strange pair we make, hm?”

Vanya nods vigorously and flops herself down against his chest again as little Gary makes his way back across the edge of the water. The dog keeps his distance for all of a brief moment as he weighs his situation, and when he deems this siren is not a threat, he’s quick to join his master’s side. She reaches out with her webbed hand, trying to pet his dog, and the poor thing concedes begrudgingly, accepting the fur-dampening head scratch with dignity.

Lovely as this is, though, he’s becoming painfully aware of _just_ how cold he is, soaked from the waist down in frigid ocean and crushed on top by a strapping fish-lady. Vanya is none the wiser to his plight, and she’s begun to pick at the buttons on his shirt curiously. Up close, her face is absolutely covered in freckles, as is the rest of her human half. She’s more freckle than woman—fish...—and he finds himself thinking that he could likely spend _hours_ down here in the water counting each and every one of them if he was able. It’s a strange, gravitational thought that roots him right back to the here and now as Pagan realizes that this is _not_ normal.

And, in fact, he’s not entirely convinced he’s not dreaming. The only sense of normalcy here is the damn dog, and even he is acknowledging the literal mermaid draped between his master’s legs like she’s an over-eager lover.

“Vanya,” he clears his throat, trying not to let his teeth chatter, “Thank you, so much, for... whatever this was. But I really must go. I have to tend to the lighthouse, you see. You might not even understand a word of what I’m saying but... please move?”

Pagan tries and fails to shift her off of his lap. She snakes her arms around him with a keening whine, and his chest tightens with guilt. He thinks to himself that it certainly _shouldn’t,_ but here he is, falling head over heels for a fish he’s _just_ met. His garbled name falls from her lips again as she holds onto him tightly, and for a moment he nearly caves.

_No, she’s just a creature. Nothing more. Don’t get attached._

In the end his resolve wins out, and he manages to coax her back into the water gently as he gets himself up and standing. Gary spins circles eagerly at his feet, likely itching for some breakfast, and damned if he himself isn’t hungry too. Vanya watches him from the water, her black eyes wide and full of innocent sorrow. She keeps trying at his name in among all her strange chatter, and _damnit_ it’s not making things easier to leave her here in the water like this.

But she’s a fish. She can’t possibly want anything to do with a human if she’s not going to eat him. And yet, when he meets her gaze sheepishly, there’s something there. Some deep, dark part of her begging to be seen that he just can’t quite identify.

“Thank you again, Vanya,” he sighs as he clutches at himself, wracked with a hard shudder, “maybe I’ll see you around?”

_Is he really planning on meeting her again?_

The siren sinks into the water at this, betrayal clear on her freckled face, and she snorts angrily out her nose at him before ducking beneath the washing waves. She leaves him with a hasty splash of water from her tail as she twists in the water and goes on her way.

_That’s that then._

As he resigns himself to the long climb back up the rocky hillside, Pagan can’t help but wonder if he made the right decision. And, more importantly, he finds himself hoping – no, _praying_ – that Vanya will return to him another night. He hopes foolishly that, perhaps, he’s made a friend. The chances are highly unlikely, but the prospect of having _someone_ other than little Gary out there in the wide world to spend some lonely hours with is all too good to be true.

For now, he’ll go about his life, and with him he’ll carry that sunny little memory of waking up in a siren’s tender hold.


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings have been rather eventful since that groundbreaking night a month ago. This one is no different. Down on the shore, Vanya waits patiently in the same tidal pool as always. Pagan can hear her tail slapping the water in her excitement, likely passing the time by watching the glittering sprays of water raining down on her. She'll be happy to see him, as she always is.

He shrugs his bright yellow raincoat on, the one that makes her eyes light up the brightest when she sees him coming. Gary earns himself a scratch behind the ears his morning bowl of kibble, and then he's out the door, leaving the pup behind for today. He always makes sure to bring with him a whistling tune and a thermos of hot tea that's packed away with his lunch for later. Every day, a different flavor. Vanya seems to want to try whatever steeping he's made for the day, with little dips of her scaly fingers into the liquid to sample with her tongue. Today he's made pomegranate sencha. She likes the green teas best.

Never once has he stopped to think about how absurd his new routine is. Quite honestly, Pagan hasn't ever anticipated that he'd take on friends of the piscine variety, even if their first meeting wasn't entirely voluntary.

Down among the dull roar of the waves, Vanya pipes up when she hears him coming. She's taken to imitating Camptown Races when he whistles it. By and far, her rendition is ten times better with that bubbling warble of a siren call.

It’s become _their song_.

At last he comes round the edge of the cliffside to their little resting spot, and there she is sure as anything. His fishtailed friend, the brightness in his lonely days.

“Pagan!!” she cries, sending up a particularly large spray with a hearty slap of her fins.

“Hello Vanya, dear.”

“Hello Vanya!” the siren responds, crinkling up her nose and cheesing big for him.

Her teeth still intimidate him. But damned if he hasn't really started to admire her smile, her giddy way of wriggling ever closer to him when he comes to sit on his favorite rock near the water, her… her _everything_. It's terrible, really, how smitten he's become in a month, and how much she really isn’t helping the case for how forward she is. Naturally, she's not aware of personal space, or any of the typical human social conventions. She likes to rest her head on her folded arms, draped over one of his legs.

And when he sits on his rock, reaching down to pet her tangles of raven hair in greeting, she does just that. With a surge of her tail and a happy little keen, Vanya comes to rest against his lap, peering up to meet his eye.

“Nooo?” she asks, “teeea?”

This is the way of things, their little made-up language. Words and sounds she gleans from their conversations take on new meanings that only she knows. Some things are designated to their proper titles, such as his name, and the pink thermos of _teeea_ he pulls from his lunch pail. She knows she is Vanya. She’s even learned Gary’s name, which seems to be easier for her to say.

“You'll have tea later,” he affirms, and she shimmies her shoulders joyfully.

On sunny days like today, Vanya's whole body glitters under its rays, casting dancing lights onto the cliff wall behind them. Even her freckled skin shimmers with a gilded glow. She's well aware that she's dazzling, and she makes a show of sunning herself for his perusal.

Somehow, without even understanding the nuances, Vanya has been _teasing_ him. Like she knows he stays up late thinking about her, and that he dreams about her often. When he's up in the lighthouse some evenings he'll scan the dark ocean for any sign of her. He always listens for her songs. She hasn't raised a call since the night she stole him from the cusp of the cliff.

Today is absolutely no different. The siren slides from his lap after a while, leaving his left leg soaking wet in her wake, and she lingers in his peripheral as he fishes his latest whittling project from the inner pouch of his leather satchel. Vanya likes to watch him carve little blocks of wood just as much as he likes watching her basking in the sun. Where his fascination is purely human, borderline sinful, hers is purely _siren_. Innocent as can be when she wants to be, just tracking his strange habits and mannerisms.

In a few kicks of her tail she's across the little tide pool, and up onto her own favorite rock with a happy sigh. Pagan looks up from the tools in his hands to see her spreading herself out just so. A flip of her hair here, a happy, shivering stretch of her tail there. She leans to the side so he can see all of her long body, and he wonders if she knows she's ‘naked' for all intents and purposes. Or what that does to him, despite his vehement attempts to avoid gawking at her human half – and her siren half, if he's being honest with himself. Vanya catches him staring, and there's that ever-subtle little flush in her cheeks again. She turns her head to gaze down the long beach, watching something intently that he can't see from this vantage.

This morning, she does something entirely different from her usual routine. This morning, Vanya beckons for him. When at last she's comfortable and poised on her basking perch, and has apparently seen her fill of whatever she's been watching down the shore, she turns her head lazily to him and smiles wide.

“Pagan, here!” she burbles as she pats the empty space beside her.

“I beg your pardon?” Pagan blurts, nearly fumbling his little whittling knife, “did you just say that?”

“Pagan. _Here_,” she asserts, screwing her face up into a demanding pout that's gotten her her way in the past.

“Well I'll be damned,” he muses as his jaw falls slack, “you're learning!”

And damned if he doesn't take a fortifying swig of his hot tea and wade right into the water in his trousers, forsaking his jacket and leaving it behind. She has to help him up, but once he's hauled himself onto the rock it's a comfortable fit. Just enough space for both of them side by side, and the stone is smooth and cool from years of washing waves wearing it away.

“Teeea?”

“I left it on the shore, dear,” he apologizes, and Vanya shakes her head insistently.

Her chilly hands paw at his soaked shirt, as they often do, and she drags him down to lie beside her on her rock.

“Teeea,” she pouts as he rolls onto his side to look at her, propping his head up on one arm.

“I’m sorry love, we'll have it with lunch, alright? It will still be hot for you, just how you like it.”

Her hands haven't left his shirt. She digs in, and he hears those sharp claws of hers poking through the fabric as they extend. A little knot of fear rises up in his throat, but he tries to swallow it back. Surely she won't hurt him now, after everything? She doesn't seem the type to play with her food.

“Nooo, Pagan. Here,” she says, and he has to wonder whether she truly does understand what she's repeating back to him.

The siren releases him with one hand and lifts her trembling fingers to paw at his face, whining softly. Her skin is frigid, but the pads of her fingers are soft and smooth. She’s never touched his face before, and it surprises him to feel her being so reverently gentle despite her enthusiasm. He finds himself covering her hand with his own, and he watches her black eyes, trying to discern what she's attempting to convey to him.

“Teeea, Pagan,” she pouts, tapping his lips and then her own, back and forth a few times until it hits him square in the chest.

“You want me to _kiss you_?” he blurts out, eyes widening, “where on earth did you learn that?”

The siren turns a little and points off down the shore proudly. When he traces her line of sight he sees a young couple tangled up in the sand, and he shouldn't be surprised that she's evidently been _people watching_ from her little rock out here.

“Well do you… _enjoy_ things like that? Do sirens kiss? Are you-“ his words get no further as Vanya cups both sides of his face with her hands and she muffles him with a reckless kiss.

Pagan's heart slams into his chest as fear prickles at him, but it’s soon washed away as he accepts that she's really, truly not trying to devour him. The soft rub of her surprisingly smooth lips sparks a blossom of warmth in his heart. Her kiss is cold, and she tastes of seaweed and brine, but it’s not altogether unpleasant. It's very much _her_. All too suddenly, Vanya is greedily running her tongue along his lower lip, pleading for entrance in a distinctly human way and as he gasps in surprise she takes his unintended permission eagerly.

He finds himself pressing closer to her, reaching up to knot his hand in the back of her hair gently. When he clutches at her, drawing her to him she panics and pulls away with a keen, swatting at his hand.

_Too much, too fast._

As though all of this isn’t too much in some strange way, he thinks as she blinks owlishly at him.

“I'm sorry dear heart, so sorry,” he pants softly, “I just got a little too intense. Forgive me.”

“Pagan,” she smiles, her plump, pale lips flushed and kiss-bitten.

He’ll take that as forgiveness. But he still hasn't the foggiest idea why _tea_ now means _kiss_. No matter, he'll adapt. Vanya chirrups blissfully and tilts her head to the side, studying the changes in his face as he lets his mind run away with him. Much as he’d like to believe what she wants from him may be romantic, Pagan knows that can't be true. What she saw that couple on the beach doing, he thinks she wouldn't understand that it was an act of courtship, or partnership. He's not even sure if sirens _mate_, so to speak, and _that's a vein of thought he doesn’t want to travel down…_

“Vanya. Love. Come have some proper tea now, hmm?” Pagan asks, stroking her freckled cheekbone with his knuckles as she smiles at him.

“Teeea,” she agrees with a vigorous nod, but not before she leans up to peck at his lips again.

With that, she slips into the water, splashing on the way down, and she beats him back to the shore by a longshot.

He takes his time wading through the water, still in a bit of a daze from that whirlwind little moment on the basking rock. Vanya reaches for his lunch pail urgently where it’s set up on top of his rock, and she manages to weasel her hand up and into it just enough to get hold of the thermos. Pagan watches in amazement as she manages to lift it out precariously and unscrew the lid all on her own, and by the time he's gotten to her she's pouring a swig into her open mouth, foregoing the straw he'd brought her. Every fin on her body ripples in delight when she swallows, and she chatters delightedly as he joins her in the water beside his rock. He's already soaked, he may as well sit with her where she can join him.

Even with the language barrier, even with the _behavioral_ barrier, Pagan thinks to himself that she is perhaps the best friend he's had himself in decades. Right now he could be up in his lighthouse whittling away and chatting with the dog. He could be sitting and stewing over his losses and his transgressions. But he's here by the ocean side, getting himself a healthy tan, bonding with this wild creature. _Loving her_, if he's honest, in his own way. And perhaps, he thinks as he watches her watching him, she may love him too.

When Pagan has gotten his lunch pail in hand, Vanya slithers up onto his lap and sits with her tail draped over both of his legs. She wraps her arms around his midsection and nuzzles her head into his chest, something she's _never_ done, not since that first morning when she wriggled up to lay on him.

“Dear, I can't eat when you're taking up all of my space,” he chuckles, but he makes no effort to remove her.

With a soft croon, he closes his eyes and nuzzles his forehead into her soaking wet hair. His lunch can wait. He gets the pail perched back up on the rock above them and wastes no time in wrapping his arms around her strong shoulders. The siren shifts in his embrace to get herself comfortable, and she presses her ear into his chest as though she's listening to his heartbeat. Having her clutched so dearly to him, his heart makes vows all it’s own, without his prior permission.

He well and truly loves her. His spitfire wildling. His bride at sea, beautiful thing.

“Vanya,” Pagan says after a while of stroking softly up and down her back and those webbed spines that ripple happily at his touch, “I want to teach you something. Something important.”

She picks her head up, swishing her tail languidly in the water.

“Nooo?”

“New word, dear heart,” he murmurs as he cups her cheek in his hand.

Her face is warm from being pressed so close to him.

“Pagan here,” she purrs, nuzzling into his palm.

“Good girl. Now, listen. Love. You. Love you.”

Vanya's eyes widen and she screws her face up, concentrating hard on what she hears. He still can’t understand how she's able to comprehend what he says to her, but she still seems to have no true understanding of the language. What an enigma she is, so endearingly new to this human world.

“Luff. You,” she mimics, struggling over her syllables, “luffyou?”

Even just hearing her say the words cracks his heart in two. Pagan stops only for a moment to think about how alarmingly wrong this should be before he gives her an affirming kiss to her flushed forehead.

“That’s right Vanya,” his lip trembles as he smiles wide, “and look. I. Love you. Pagan loves you.”

_She won't understand. Not more than superficially. She's a siren, she can’t possibly know what love is._

“Pagan luffyou?” her slow swaying halting.

There is a distinct and unmistakable look of utter realization in her eye, and when she gasps sharply, he has no doubt. _She does understand_. He can’t explain how, maybe, but there's such a fervent, bright look in her eye. An amplified reflection of something he's been picking up from her since they collided in the water that night.

“You have been a beacon of light in this lonely man's world, Vanya. You are the thing that keeps me waking up every day. I can't fathom a world without you in it, you know?” Pagan tries not to choke on a thick swallow of air, “If my future entails spending half of every day in your company, freezing my socks off just to cuddle you in the tide pool, then Vanya, I couldn’t ask for anything better. I love you. As much as my tired old heart can handle, I love you.”

He half expects Vanya to burst into some sort of chatter in response, as she's been known to do. But she breathes not a word. Rather, she holds his steady gaze and turns over what he’s said to her slowly.

“Luffyou,” she finally says, “luffyou yes. Yes.”

Somehow, he believes her. After all, she doesn’t have to be _human_ to love. She doesn't pretend to be human, she doesn't try to pass as anything other than herself. And so her love shouldn’t be _human_ in its essence. Vanya loves him as he supposes a siren should, in a _siren_ way. A _Vanya_ way.

So here they are then, and here's his future held out to him on a silver platter. And what a prospect. Pagan feels a clenching moment of anxiety as he ponders what the winter will bring, when the leaves have fallen and the ocean grows colder. She's clearly been fine so far, but she won’t survive on shore when the frost hits and the rocks freeze over. What will she do then?

“Pagan, teeea,” Vanya chides, patting the side of his face as she tries to shake him from his thoughtful daze, “you. Vanya.”

Whatever she’s saying, he can’t argue. Not when she utters it with such authority and conviction. Not when she runs her thumb softly over his cheekbone and locks eyes with him so intently.

She gasps and shivers suddenly, almost like a cold chill rushes over her, and her fins all ripple gently. Vanya squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment, crinkling up her freckled nose. When she opens them again her mouth opens into a wide, toothy grin, almost as though she's just thought of something fantastic. He means to ask her, really he does, as though it’ll earn him any kind of proper answer. But what he finds himself doing instead is pressing a chaste kiss to those pale lips of hers. She tastes of tea now, if not still the salty tang of sea water, the strange combination earns her a chuckle in earnest as he accepts the ridiculousness of this situation he finds himself in.

“Teeea!!” Vanya enthuses when he pulls away from her, and she's still cupping his cheek, “yes teeea!”

Pagan rolls his eyes and takes up his thermos only to find it woefully empty.

“Greedy girl! You were supposed to save some for me,” he taps her on the nose and screws the lid back on, “would you like more? Shall I go back up to the lighthouse and brew a fresh steeping?”

That enthusiastic nod in response is all he needs, and he draws her in to embrace her tightly for a moment.

“Alright dear, you stay right here and I'll go make some more. Do keep the seagulls away from my lunch, please?” he says as he ruffles her hair while she's sliding off of his lap.

He gets himself in order and shrugs his jacket back on, quite pleased to find that it's warm from the sunlight baking down on it. Everything in order, and a voracious siren now clutching his entire lunch pail to her chest possessively, Pagan makes for the steep hill, whistling to himself as he goes. Vanya joins in with her own harmony from the water, far more subdued than usual. It's a long hike back up, and he takes it slowly, if only because he loathes this part of his trek. Just as he disappears around the bend halfway up the walk, he hears her keening cry cut through the air.

“Paaaagan! Here, Pagan!”

Peering back around the edge of the stone wall, he finds her waving one arm urgently in the air.

“Yes dear heart?” he calls back, watching her clutch up the bucket again, keeping it above the water.

“Love you!” she shouts, taking her time with each word to really get them right, and she preens proudly with a flick of her tail fin.

Pagan’s chest clenches tight, bowled over by her effort, and he can't help the wide smile that pulls at his face.

“And I love you,” he responds, watching her wriggle happily, “I'll be back in a little while!”

Damned if he doesn't run the rest of the way up the hill, eager to be back to her as soon he can now, that wily keeper of his heart. She keeps singing for him even when he stops whistling, and he carries that tune in him as he shuts the door behind him and sets to work on the tea kettle.

_All the doo-dah day…_


	3. Chapter 3

Things have been… _interesting_ since that first kiss out on the rocks. Darling Vanya has been nothing but clingy on his regular visits to the shore. She implores that Pagan spends more time with her. She brings him gifts of seashells and beach glass, laid out on his rock every morning for his perusal. He's only allowed to pick his favorite of the day’s selections, and the rest are returned to the sea. He almost got bit last time he tried to choose more than one from her array.

Which leads him to his current predicament. In the weeks since admitting their love to each other in their own unique little way, Vanya has been getting rough with him, for lack of a better word. It started with little hard flicks of her hip fins, or a scratch too hard with her sharp claws. Soon it escalated into her actively pushing him down into the beach and kissing him _hard_ like she wanted to nibble his lips clean off. This afternoon, after his lunch taken sitting up on the rock where his clothes could remain dry while she gave him a little space and sunbathed languidly, she snapped. Just a little, but enough.

And here he is now with an angry, chittering siren pacing the water below his perch, waiting for him to rejoin her. Pagan certainly feels a healthy dose of fear, ever afraid of those sharp teeth and claws. Irritated as she is by some mysterious plight, he doesn’t put it past her that she might want to finally dig in and eat him.

“What do you _want_, love?” he sighs, exasperated as she spits another spray of water at him childishly.

“Want!” she pouts, and gives him nothing more to work with.

“Want _what_, Vanya? Spit it out-" his face is promptly assaulted by a well-aimed spout from her pursed lips, “-_not like that!”_

“Want Pagan. Want love, Pagan love,” she grumbles, eyes big as saucers under her furrowed brow.

Pagan laughs – he can’t help himself – and he reaches down towards the water, hoping to console her with a hand to hold. His siren takes up his outstretched hand, and he feels her squeeze, and then a sharp pain jolts through him suddenly.

“You _bit me!”_ he yelps as he snatches his aching hand away and nurses it against his chest pathetically, “dear heart that's _bad_, we don't bite! Pagan isn't food!”

“Love you!!” she growls back, as though it is an admonishment, “here, Pagan! Love Vanya!”

“Alright, alright!” Pagan snorts, “just let me get undressed, I'll need dry clothes when I get back out.”

He’s out of his shirt and trousers easily enough, and he makes the effort of returning to shore with them to place them somewhere they most certainly won’t get any wetter. Somehow he can't bring himself to remove his briefs while she's watching, though, despite the fact that he’s only ever seen Vanya naked as can be. When she's turned away, distracted by something, he shucks them off and stores them with his other clothes. She's not shy like him, though. He can only assume it's natural for sirens to shun clothing, pointless as it is underwater. But he can’t deny it's been incredibly tempting to gawk at those small breasts of hers. Perhaps it's time he reciprocates, if she’s into that, he thinks.

And so, stark naked and feeling rather self-conscious, with his clothes folded up against the cliff side on shore, Pagan returns to the water. Vanya receives him with grasping, pleading hands and she clings to his legs as he stands shin-deep, looking down at her. He doesn't miss the way she states up intently at him. She's never seen him naked before, and apparently she likes it.

“Out! Out!” she beckons, tugging on his ankles urgently.

With one hand, she points dramatically towards the deeper ocean beyond the tidal pool. How they're going to get there across the rocky barriers, he has no idea, let alone he's not sure he even wants to go. What could she want that couldn’t be handled here in their spacious tidal pool?

“Vanya I'm not sure that’s going to be possible for me,” he chuckles and ruffles her hair softly, “can we swim here? In our big pool? Another day, I'll bring proper spare clothes to take out beyond the reef so I don’t scratch myself up. Let alone someone might see us, and I can’t follow you underwater dear.”

“Pagan, ooout!!” she pleads, gesturing insistently as she chattered away at him in her own language, growing frustrated.

Sighing in defeat, he follows her into the water and lets the siren lead him along away from the shore. She leads him to a soft, sandy embankment that he wouldn’t have noticed hidden behind the sharper rocks. This must feed their pool when the tide is low, he thinks, and perhaps it's her way out and into the ocean when she leaves their little world here. Vanya beams proudly as she pulls herself up onto the sand and she reaches back to grasp at his hand and tug him along. They're up and over in no time.

The moment they’re in the water, she clings close to him, practically dragging him under. But somehow he knows, despite the niggling worry in the back of his mind, that she's not trying to. This isn't an attempt on his life. She’s just happy to have him in the water with her.

There’s a certain look in her eye akin to the day she first kissed him. The intensity is stifling, and he almost feels shy when she wraps her tail around his legs to keep him afloat. Vanya lifts a hand to his bare chest, spreading out her webbed fingers as she presses her palm into his goosebumped flesh. He's trying desperately to ignore the fact that her whole body is pressed up flush against his.

“Love you Pagan,” she coos, fluttering her long lashes at him, “love you. Here.”

She brings her other arm around him to clutch up against his back, and strangely enough, she tips her head to the side to expose her gilled neck. His brows furrow up as he tries to understand, and when she observes his confusion she sighs a heavy sigh.

“Nooo,” she grumbles, moving her hand from his chest to his cheek to push his head aside like hers just was.

Vanya leans in when he obeys, and presses a soft, cold kiss to the crook of his neck. He sucks in a sharp breath, trying not to think about how terribly erotic all of this is and how it really shouldn’t be. She seems to take this as some sort of permission, and suddenly her sharp teeth are clamping down on his tender flesh. Pagan can't even bring himself to yelp, though he goes rigid in response to the soothing lap of her tongue as she tries to ease away the pain she's caused him.

_No biting!_ he wants to scold her, but before he can part his lips to speak she's pulled away and she bears her neck again for him. Gravity seems to shift around him as he realizes what it is that she expects of him, even if he can’t fathom _why._ Hesitantly, he slides his hands up her strong back, shivering softly in the cold water, and he gently sinks his teeth into the skin of her shoulder despite his better judgment.

He won't break skin like she did. He won't even hurt her, like she did. But clearly she’s into it, as the ruffles on her back ripple with delight and she sighs contentedly into his shoulder. Against him, her tail coils tighter, sliding along his naked body in such a delightful way. Despite his restraint, he can’t help but to enjoy the feeling of her surrounding him so completely, out here in her territory. He really, _really_ shouldn’t be getting erect right now, but here he is, shamefully stiff and shuddering at the feel of her embracing him.

Naturally, she notices immediately. Why wouldn’t she? He's prodding her in the hip and not doing a very good job of being subtle. Vanya snickers, sliding her fingers up and down his back, and she offers up a low, haunting croon.

“Pagan is my mate,” she whispers over the lapping of the water around them, and _what-?_

_“Vanya?_ Where did you learn those words?!” he stammers, “I didn’t teach you that word, certainly not…”

Of course she doesn’t respond, he should have expected that. Instead she pulls him into a deep, needy kiss, and squeezes him ever tighter with her tail. Like this, she’s got his cock pinned right between the both of them and _fuck_ something feels different.

He's too busy thinking about how mating could possibly work between two sirens, let alone them, to notice when she reaches her hand between them. Her eyes are dark and heavy-lidded when she finally pulls away from his lips.

“Love you,” she huffs, and _oh-_

She’s touching herself. Eagerly. Without a damn care in the world, Vanya is rubbing her fingers softly along a slit on her tail he never noticed before – not that he was ever looking for it – and she’s making a damn show of it. Damned if that doesn’t send a spike of giddy arousal right through him, and damned if his cock doesn’t respond with a dramatic twitch against her hip where she still has him slightly pinned against her side.

“Oh heavens,” Pagan swallows thickly, “what is this? Why are you-?”

“Love you,” is all she says, her hand trembling as she curls two fingers into herself.

He can feel the muscles in her tail ripple in response to the pleasurable stimulus, and the soft little moan she croons out is perhaps the sweetest thing he's ever heard. But what is he supposed to do about it? Watch? Participate? Has she dragged him out here just to show her how sirens masturbate? The thought of that is ridiculous enough to draw a snort from him, and Vanya stiffens immediately in surprise.

“Pagan?” she asks as she draws her hand away, and he's suddenly painfully aware of just how out of his element he is, out here bobbing in the open water with her.

“I'm confused, sweetheart,” he admits, clearing his throat and trying to ignore that little bit of friction their body contact is affording him, “do you need help? Are you having urges? I don't know how to help you.”

At this shameful confession, a wry smile curls across her lips, all mischief and sinful intent, and _oh_. _Oh_ he's the dumbest man alive. Absolute _imbecile,_ Pagan…

Vanya nudges her hip against his groin again and she paws at him insistently, and everything hits him all at once. She wants him as a _mate_. A well and true lover. She quite literally _said so_.

“Oh, Vanya…” Pagan huffs, “you… me? Is this real? This can’t be real. Sure I’ve known you for quite some time, but I-…”

The hand that's been clutching at his back slides down to rest above his buttocks as she locks eyes with him, and she presses firmly, insistently there. When he doesn't move at first, she glowers, and then wriggles her hips just so as if to demonstrate, and _god_ she's going to be the death of him.

Surrendering his disbelief, Pagan leans in to press his forehead to hers, and he rocks his hips forward once. This earns him a coo of approval from her, and a surge of friction against the underside of his cock that has him melting into her with another eager rut. He huffs out a shaky breath and chokes it off as her other hand travels down to her tail again, and he tries to watch her ministrations beneath the water's surface. Vanya curls her long fingers back into herself again, and her tail coils impossibly tighter as she twitches and sighs.

Here they are, the two of them feverishly chasing that high together that he hasn't even realized he needed desperately. He's tried so hard to avoid catching any kind of feelings for her past subtle romance, and apparently he's failed terribly.

But this isn't going to be enough, not for either of them. Despite how incredible the sleek slide of her scales feels against the ache in his groin. Despite how urgently she's thumbing at herself, whining unabashedly into his shoulder. Despite their mutual and budding frenzy, he's not sure he’s going to reach his end here in the frigid ocean water. He's not even sure he _wants_ to climax. Is that what she wants?

“Pagan. Want,” she pipes up, filling in the rest of her sentence with unintelligible chatter until he cuts her off with a kiss.

“Vanya, dear heart,” Pagan pants on her lips, forcing himself to steady his bucking hips if only to keep his resolve, “do you… want me to-… to make love to you?”

He can live with her saying no. He can live with making a fool of himself against the poor girl’s hip while she makes a show of fingering herself. He can live with all of that so long as she stays by his side and doesn’t decide she's through with him and his strange, human ways when they're done.

What he receives instead is an enthusiastic nod and a soft, unspoken plea in her eyes, and like a branch bent too far, Pagan snaps. Vanya drags her claws lightly up his back as he shivers, and turns her hips to press into him fully, and she does all the work for him. In a smooth roll of her hips and a flex of her tail, suddenly he's sliding into her slick tightness and wheezing out a shocked keen that brings a burning blush to his cheeks.

“Ohgod,” he whispers as she draws him closer, _deeper_, “ohfuck Vanya, we-"

“Love you. _Please.”_

“Ohgod,” his voice wavers, and he has to bite down on her shoulder again to keep himself in check.

When it feels like she's adjusted to him, he pulls back just enough to watch her freckled face hazed over in pleasure as he draws his hips away and rocks into her slowly. She's unimaginably tight, and not altogether different from any human he's experienced. Shockingly, she's not _cold_, but burning hot, welcoming him eagerly. In all of a few thrusts the both of them are reduced to gasping, crooning messes, grinding into each other in a feverish dance, kissing like they're trying to drink in their very essences.

Vanya keeps them both afloat in the water with her strong tail, writhing and coiling around his legs as she takes to singing softly into his shoulder, clutching him for dear life.

“I love you,” Pagan pleads into her shoulder when he can finally get the words out, “so much, always, forever, _fuck-"_

Here they are, taking their gasping pleasure from one another, and somehow he knows this is more than just alleviation of their needs. Damnit, just as she said, he's her _mate_. Maybe he’s too far in over his head, but he's quite content to give himself over to this beautiful creature, body and soul. The sweet, otherworldly sounds of her shuddering moans carry across the water as she soon begins to rock her hips to meet his thrusts to the rhythm of the ocean as drift together. He's hers, and she’s his. _Beautiful, perfect girl_.

“Pagan!” Vanya sobs, snaring him ever tighter in her arms, and he answers with a low growl, feeling that pleasure coil ever tighter inside him like a wound spring ready to break.

In a few more thrusts he tumbles over the edge into bliss, his hips stuttering and rutting sharply into her as she clenches him through his release. She shudders through her own with a shrill keen of delight broken by a throaty snarl, writhing in the water and shivering all over.

She doesn’t let him go when they've fallen into their afterglow. Her still-trembling tail stays tightly wound around his legs and her arms clutch him tight to her, unwilling to let him draw away. Pagan heaves through the aftershocks as he loves her still, rocking into her softly until he's completely spent. It's all happened so fast, so terribly, terribly fast, and yet he feels like the world had stopped around them there for a long moment.

_God_ he loves her…

“Love you,” his siren whispers, pressing her face into his shoulder and nuzzling close as though she can’t bring herself to face the world just now, “love you…”

“Dear heart, let's get back to shore before someone sees us,” Pagan manages to get out breathlessly, “remember those interlopers on the beach the other day? Don’t want them seeing you, darling. That's a risk I'm not willing to take.”

Vanya nods vigorously as she looks back towards the shore, her eyes lingering just a little too long for his comfort, as though she sees something on the beach that he doesn’t. That’s all it takes for him to begin prying himself from her, to which she reluctantly relents her hold. Separating from her warmth is almost painful, having been so blissfully comfortable in her grasp, but the way she keeps staring at the shoreline is itching him in all the wrong ways.

“Come along sweetheart,” he says, grasping her hand gently to rouse her from her stupor.

Vanya chitters softly and finally snaps to reality, and the two of them make their way back to their tidal pool without further hesitation. All the while, the only thing he can think is that he's damn well crazy. He's just slept with a _fish_. Shoved his cock somewhere any sane human would cringe to imagine. For fuck's sake he—

“Pagan?” Vanya asks softly, and he looks up to find her perched on the sandy shore, reaching to help him over.

_No, he's not crazy._

She's not a fish. He cringes outwardly, though she doesn’t seem to notice, and as he hoists himself up and over, Vanya takes the time to press a little chilly kiss to his shoulder. No, _she’s not a fish_.

_She's his mate._

Never once did he stop to think to himself _anything_ negative as the two of them were out there, tangled together and making love. Never did the thought cross his mind that she was _different_, in that moment. So why should he now?

She's as human as he is in so many ways, even if her lower half is a little different. Vanya can sing, laugh, chat… the language barrier means nothing. She's her own person, and _god-_…

“I love you,” Pagan sighs, and she nods in kind proudly as they slip back into the tide pool and head towards shore.

Vanya gets herself all settled beside his rock as he clambers onto the shore to get himself dressed, and before he leaves her he placates her with a tender kiss on the forehead. She keeps staring, back off at the beach where those lovers had been caught once under her watchful gaze, teaching her how to kiss. It’s not his concern right now, he thinks. He has a fresh thermos of tea to make, and some firewood to gather. After everything he's just done, he's eager to stay down here for as long as he can tonight, if he can just keep warm.

Of course she complains when he starts off up the hill, but he knows she understands. She likes to bitch at him for the fun of it. This isn’t anything new.

With a whistled tune and a joyful fluttering in his heart, Pagan sets to getting his tea set to steep while he rummages through the silverware drawer for a clean spoon. Little Gary circles his feet like an anxious cat begging for attention, his little tail wagging furiously as he snuffles the air. He can picture Vanya down there now, sunning herself, basking in the pleasant afterglow of their lovemaking. She must be triumphant, if her earlier vehemence was any indication of just how desperately she wanted him. Beautiful thing, those wild curls and her plump lips, smiling wide for him, _moaning for him_…

The bite mark on his neck hurts like hell. He'd been so fixated on the good that he'd forgotten the bad. One check in the mirror beside the front door shows him he's bleeding, though not terribly. It'll leave a scar, for sure. And he supposes that this is _precisely_ what she wanted to happen. Wily creature…

The tea kettle is beginning to boil, he can hear the soft simmer of the water. Soon as it sings he'll be good to go.

Something thumps on the wall outside the house, close to the front door. Probably the wind catching something, he thinks, shrugging his shoulders. But Gary comes scrambling from beneath the kitchen table, hackles raised and his little teeth bared. He's not often a jumpy thing like this.

“It's alright, Gary. You know it's windy up here. Sounded like a bird hit the siding. Wouldn’t be the first time one got swept away on the breeze like that,” Pagan chuckles, reaching down to ruffle his soft fur.

_Whump._

Oh, that was louder. Right on the front door.

Gary snaps, crouching low and descending into raucous barking, his tail tucked between his legs.

“Oh calm yourself boy,” he sighs, trying to ignore the prickling of fear at the back of his neck.

Carefully treading to the front door, Pagan dares to peer out the round window, pressing his face against the glass to try to catch a better glimpse outside.

_Whump. “Fuck!”_

“Hello?!” He yelps, startled enough to jump a little, “who's out there?”

The doorknob rattles, just beside his hand where it's resting against the frame, and he draws away as though he's been burned.

_“Lemmein!”_

And damn him if he doesn’t open the fucking door, almost mechanically, despite every sensible nerve in his body protesting with extreme alarm. Here on his doorstep is a man he's seen in town from time to time. _Larry_ or some such dreadfully average name. Not so much the town drunk – well… except for right _now_ – as just a general nuisance. Certainly not the man he’s expected to find assaulting his door, and now promptly muscling his way in with no preamble.

“You that Min fellow what keeps this place?” his guest says, struggling to get his words out, and Pagan can only nod, slackjawed.

“Can I help you, Larry?” he stammers, when the man wobbles on his feet.

He absolutely reeks of cheap vodka.

“I'ss Frank,” he says, shaking a grimy finger in his direction, and he is most certainly _not_ Frank, by his recollection.

No way he'd mistake this man for another. He's got a reputation. Before Pagan can manage a response to his correction, Larry – Frank – whoever – lurches forward with impressive determination and gets his grubby hands wrapped around the column of his throat. Panic sets in quickly, and little Gary gives up his tough show in favor of bolting straight out the still-open door to God knows where.

“You _fishfucker!”_ the intruder snarls, releasing one hand from his throat as Pagan flails, “I saw you down there on the lake. Freak! Pervert! I oughta kill you before you can breed that siren bitch!”

Before he can get any sort of retaliatory grip on his assaulter, he's clocked straight across the face, a solid punch to the cheekbone. His body sags, knees nearly buckling. The room spins rather violently as both hands close on his throat again, and he can only weakly scrabble for a grasp, his whole body buzzing rather nimbly.

This is it, then. His bitter end. Throttled by an apparent vigilante, and Vanya will never know. Poor thing will think he used her and left her. Perhaps she’ll die of heartbreak, all alone out there in the vast ocean. Missing her lowly lighthouse keeper and their afternoon teas. Whistling that tune of theirs to an empty sea and withering away, thinking she’s been abandoned. The lack of oxygen, the throbbing pain in his face, the gripping panic… none of that really registers when all he can think is of how much this will hurt _her_. And he can’t even say goodbye.

What a way to go, he thinks as his vision fades, no longer bothering to fight the vice grip on his throat. His assailant drops him cold on the floor. The last thing he hears as his head hits the boards is the heavy, staggering footfalls as Larry stumbles back out of the lighthouse. Free in the world out there, apparently without a care.

_What a way to go…_

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to drop a comment and let me know how I'm doing, how you're doing, what you're enjoying or not enjoying! I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> A huge thanks to Fuzziestpuppy for all her constructive input, encouraging words, and inspiration. I wouldn't be here doing this if she wasn't shoving me forward behind the scenes. I appreciate you!!


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